


Your Reality is Incomplete

by mitslits



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Altered canon, Angst, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, Harry Lives, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmate AU, brief mentions of past sex work, i forgot the dogs, no dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: Eggsy Unwin is the youngest person ever to finish his Reality. His life is mapped out on his skin at only 24 years old, talents, friends, purpose, soulmate. Yet he finds himself utterly alone and unsatisfied, until a strange job assignment lands him in a secret spy organization where he may just find everything he's been missing.





	Your Reality is Incomplete

**Author's Note:**

> "may just find" in that summary like we don't all know where this is going 
> 
> anyways, my eternal gratitude to takeanotherpieceofmyhartwin (blackbeyond on AO3) for beta'ing for me! i banged this out in ~48 hours and couldn't look at it anymore so she was kind enough to help me out. 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy and constructive criticism is always appreciated~

By twenty-four years old, Eggsy Unwin has finished his Reality. He is the youngest person ever to have done so. 

Media swarm like shark frenzy; every interviewer wants to be the first to meet the man who has so quickly been fulfilled. There must be some secret, they say, and whoever can first extract it will surely invite some share of the glory onto themselves. 

The Council Estates ignites as it never has before. The members of its walls don’t take kindly to the predators outside their doors, and they make it known through loud curses, objects hurled without aim, physical violence when things come to a head. 

Eventually, the message is received, and even the most determined journalists take up stake across the street.

The only person who doesn’t seem unduly bothered by them is Eggsy himself. He watches his mother come in flustered and frustrated, wailing sister cradled in her arms, a red-faced, spitting Dean in tow and laughs quietly to himself. How quickly those people out there would lose interest if they discovered that achieving what they all desperately wanted to achieve changed nothing. He is fulfilled, yes. But finishing his Reality hasn’t brought back his father. It hasn’t made Dean vanish into the ether, hasn’t lifted his mother out of the beer-stained grief she’d fallen into years ago, has only left a few Marks on Eggsy’s arm that mean more to the rest of the world than they do to him. 

It isn’t until he goes to be assigned that he actually faces the flock of reporters who still skulk outside with greedy cameras and poised pens.

As soon as his feet touch asphalt, they are upon him.

“Mr. Unwin! What’s it like to know you’re the youngest man ever to-”

“Just what  _ is _ your secret-” 

“Where do you think you’ll be assigned-” 

“Who’s your soulmate? We’d love to meet the lucky-” 

Eggsy draws in on himself, makes himself as small as he can, and lets their words slide right off his jacket. But one of them sticks like a pin slid neatly through the fabric. _Soulmate._

Eggsy wraps his hand around his wrist, refusing to give in to the urge to check and reassure himself that the Mark is still there. It is. He knows it is. The universe just doesn’t make mistakes like that; it is infinite perfection, not subject to the human flaw of uncertainty. If that Mark is there, he has a soulmate that knows him.

The only problem is that he doesn’t have any idea who it is.

His mother says it must have appeared sometime during the winter, when long sleeves would have hidden its birth. Eggsy has pressed her for details more times than he cares to remember, but she has only the same story to tell time and time again. 

“It wasn’t there, and then it was, next I looked. I ain’t got any idea who might’ve sparked it, babes. Might’ve been at school or the shops or somewhere else. All I know is, you was young.”

Eggsy scowls and finally frees himself from the sea of microphones.  _ It doesn’t matter, _ he tells himself. It doesn’t matter because all he has to focus on now is getting his assignment and getting out of the Estates. 

Perhaps he should be more grateful. He mulls that idea over as he slogs down the street to the Assignment Facility, tries to ignore all the second looks cast his way, the question clear in their eyes. _Is that him? The man from the telly? The one who’s finished already?_

And isn’t that just it? Eggsy already has what some people struggle a lifetime to achieve, and he hadn’t even really tried. He owes his success solely to circumstance, despite what the vultures on his front lawn might think. _There’s nothin’!_ he wants to scream at them. _There’s nothin’ you can do to make it come on faster, so fuck off already!_

He can’t call it luck, exactly. ‘Luck’ wouldn’t leave them with a man like Dean, leave him fatherless and miserable and without whoever he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. And he’s well-fucked now, isn’t he? No one’s going to go for a man with a bond, even if he is the youngest person to be fulfilled. Whoever Eggsy is supposed to have has slipped through his fingers before he ever got the chance to close them around them, hold them, be with them.

‘Lucky’ is not at all what Eggsy would call himself. 

The Assignment Facility looks the same as most government buildings: clean and impersonal to the point where it might be a little detached from reality.

Eggsy stands in front of the spotless glass doors and sucks in a deep breath. This is all he has to look forward to now, the one part of his life that hasn’t been seared into his wrist. It’s not a true Mark anyways, just a tattoo in plain black ink. 

Eggsy rubs his thumb unconsciously over the small swath already embedded in his skin and lets out a long exhale. “Right then, Unwin,” he mutters to himself. “Time to start the rest of your life.” Squaring his shoulders, he hauls open the door and makes his way up to the receptionist.

She is like the rest of the facility: primped, polished, and giving off the impression that she’s on a slightly different plane. She taps busily at the keyboard, sitting in a dress that’s as cherry red as her lipstick, dark hair swept neatly into a bun at the back of her head. Economical, but not unpleasant to take in. A bit like a sedative.

When Eggsy reaches her desk, her keys clack to a halt. Eggsy is close enough to read the nameplate sitting proudly before her. _Amelia Siegfried._

“Hello,” Amelia says, and she offers Eggsy a smile so bright it nearly hurts to look at. “You are here to be assigned?”

Her voice holds no trace of her German roots, and Eggsy feels a brief pang of jealousy. His own upbringing is laid bare as soon as he opens his mouth. “Yeah.” 

“Your name, sir?” Amelia’s fingers are hovering over the keys as if they have already been too long parted from them.

“Eggsy Unwin,” Eggsy says automatically. “Um, Gary, sorry. Gary Unwin.”

Amelia gives him another one of those ultra-bright smiles before typing in his name. She must recognize it, but she doesn’t say anything, just stares at her computer screen until she finds what she’s looking for. “Oh, yes, here you are Mr. Unwin. And this will be your first assignment?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Eggsy mumbles. His age settles on him like a blanket. While he might have been early finishing his Reality, he’s a little on the late side with employment. He wonders absently why she bothers to ask the question. Changing one’s assignment has always struck him as a distinctly unpleasant process, and he can’t imagine there are many people who choose to be reassigned.

“Right you are, then. We’re very happy to have you here, Mr. Unwin. If you could please follow me.” Amelia gets gracefully to her feet and heads off down the only hallway there is. She does not look back over her shoulder to see if he follows. 

Eggsy does, hands dug into his pockets, trailing after her and glancing disinterestedly at his surroundings. Everything is white and cream, pristine, nondescript. It is a building trying to be a void, a place in the world that exists only to move people elsewhere. Eggsy shudders. No matter what results he receives, he thinks, he will not be working in a place like this. 

Amelia comes to a halt in front of a door that looks just like all the others, a crimson spot in the otherwise Arctic wasteland. “Here you are, sir. Our technicians will take care of things from here.”

“Yeah… thanks,” Eggsy says, because he feels like he should say _something_. He slips past her into the room and is strangely relieved to leave her behind.

The room he steps into, however, is far from comforting. There is little to it beyond a transparent, vertical tube that reaches from floor to ceiling and a bank of computer monitors with a bald, bespectacled man sitting in front of them.

The man doesn’t look away from his screens as Eggsy pulls the door shut behind him. A second stretches into half a minute, and Eggsy clears his throat awkwardly. “Hello-” 

“Out of your clothes and into the machine,” the man says with bored detachment.

Eggsy blinks at him, half expecting him to take that all back and apologize for acting so strangely. “Um-”

“According to your file, you have perfect hearing. I will not be repeating myself.” 

Eggsy’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t protest again. Silently, he peels off his shirt and shoes, leaving them in a haphazard pile on the floor. His jeans follow soon after until he’s standing in nothing more than his briefs. After a quick glance at the bald technician, who’s still not looking at him, he shimmies out of those as well. 

Feeling distinctly exposed, Eggsy moves up to the tube and looks for a way in. There is no obvious door, but as soon as he lays a hand on the plastic siding, it slides open with a pneumatic hiss. Eggsy steps into it, the floor sinking an inch or two beneath his feet. He just has time to think  _ pressure pad _ before the tube snaps shut again and the technician finally seems to notice him. 

“My name is Merlin. I’ll be handling your assignment today, Mr. Unwin. If you could please stand perfectly still while I take your vitals.” 

A few strokes of the keyboard and a red fan of light descends over Eggsy’s body. It runs over him once, twice, before flickering back out of existence, a string of information left in its wake. The walls of the tube come to life in a display of his height, weight, heart rate, body fat percentage, everything he could ever want to know about himself. 

The category that draws his eye is light green and pulsing. Reality status: complete. It lies right under his age. 

Eggsy looks away, back towards Merlin. Merlin’s face is perfectly impassive, but Eggsy can see his eyes drawn back to the pulsing green words more than once. 

“Twenty-four…” Merlin muses softly. “Tell me, Mr. Unwin, do you have any preferences for where you are assigned? Your answer will have no effect on our analysis, but it is standard procedure to ask.” 

The question has haunted Eggsy ever since he first entered the Assignment Facility on a school trip. He can still remember his teacher prattling on like a tour guide as they’d stood in that blank, empty lobby. 

‘Everyone has a purpose. The Assignment Facility helps us find ours. The technicians here are so brilliant that they can figure out our strengths and weaknesses, lead us to where we truly belong. Of course, sometimes people think they know better than the facility, but, children, why defy destiny? Your assignment can bring you such happiness. Don’t you think it’s foolish to go against it?’ 

“Nah,” Eggsy says with a small shake of his head. “I ain’t got any plans.” Why defy destiny?

“Very well,” Merlin says. He focuses back on his machines. “You might experience some slight discomfort for a moment, but rest assured, you are in no danger. The machine is only making its analysis.”

Eggsy’s brow furrows, and he glances at the tube around him. “Discomfort? You wanna tell me what’s gonna happen?”

But Merlin says nothing, stabs at his keyboard without another word.

The tube starts to hum; the air inside seems to become a living thing. It turns thick and cloying, a physical being whose sole intent is to get inside Eggsy. It pries open his mouth, slips into his lungs, burrows into his ears, races through his veins until he feels like he’s vibrating from the inside out. Pressure builds inside his bones and pushes at the backs of his eyeballs, and for a frightening instant, Eggsy is certain they’ll pop out of his head. 

The worst of it comes when it reaches his mind, puncturing it in a dozen places and rooting out his darkest secrets, all the skills and abilities that had earned him the ‘talents’ Mark on his wrist. All the Marks burn for a moment, and a series of images flash by Eggsy. Free running away from Dean, a man with a snowglobe, flying from one bar to another in gymnastics, his little sister, his mum, his dad, faceless men and women, an arc of bloodspray…

Eggsy wants to scream, but the thing has a hold of his throat, and all he can do is gag emptily. The sensation of invasion leaves as quickly as it had come. Eggsy trembles in its wake. He keeps his feet but only just. “Discomfort?” he gasps with an undisguised glare in Merlin’s direction. If the man reacts, Eggsy doesn’t see it; his vision is still swimming slightly, blurry, unfocused.

The words on the screen change from his vitals to a short list. 

“Interesting,” Merlin says, and desire to see what he is to become washes over Eggsy.

He forces his eyes to focus until he can make out the list. 

Aptitude test proves [Gary Unwin] most fit for:

  1. Tailor (Kingsman) 
  2. Royal Marines
  3. Olympian (gymnast)
  4. Special Forces
  5. Police Department (any position) 
  6. Veterinarian



Eggsy squints at the list, sure something must still be wrong with his vision. “ _ Tailor? _ ” he says incredulously. “Merlin, bruv, I ain’t ever so much as stitched up a pocket.” 

It doesn’t even seem to fit the rest of the list. He can pinpoint events that would explain the rest of the positions, but  _ tailor _ ?    


Merlin is staring at Eggsy with an intensity that borders on uncomfortable, and Eggsy can’t help but think that he preferred the bored disinterest he’d shown earlier. “You have ten minutes to make your decision,” Merlin says, voice not betraying his newfound emotion. “Choose carefully; your assignment cannot be easily changed. When you’ve decided, press the number of your selection on the keypad.”

Well, tailor’s right off, Eggsy knows that already. He’s not spending his days amongst stuffy posh gits and fabric scraps, not with positions like ‘Royal Marine’ and ‘Special Forces’ on the list. His gaze glances off Olympian with a stab of regret. It was a nice dream when he was a child, but he knows he couldn’t qualify for it now.

He finds himself drawn back to the Marines. His father, he recalls, had died in service to his country. More than that, his death had _meant_ something. He’d saved lives. He’d been a hero. Eggsy’s chest swells at the thought. He keys the number 2 into the pad, but hesitates over the ‘enter’ button. If he does this, it’s very unlikely he’ll go back. Another long, deep breath, and Eggsy enters it.

The screen changes once more. [Gary Unwin] has selected [Royal Marine]. 

Heart pounding, Eggsy turns to the tube, expecting it to slide open again. But a large box with blocky lettering imposes itself over his selection. 

SYSTEM OVERRIDE: [GARY UNWIN] HAS SELECTED [TAILOR (KINGSMAN)] 

Eggsy gapes at the screen before wrenching himself around to stare at Merlin. “What the  _ fuck _ ?!” A searing pain at his wrist distracts Eggsy. To his horror, he finds black ink seeping into his skin, bringing a symbol to life and tying him to Kingsman. A small circle with a ‘k’ inside it sits directly underneath his soulmate’s Mark, the flesh around the new brand raw and red. 

“No, no,” he says, scrubbing at it furiously with his fingernails. “I don’t want this. I don’t fuckin’ want this!” He gives up on the mark, starts beating at the tube instead. “Merlin, you’ve gotta change it back. I wanted to go into the Marines!” His fists pound desperately against the plastic siding, but it does not give way. 

“You are to report to Kingsman Tailors on 11 Savile Row in Mayfair by 9 AM tomorrow,” Merlin says flatly as if he can’t see or hear Eggsy’s protests. “There you will receive further instruction. Thank you for visiting our facility, and we hope you will be very happy with your new assignment.” 

Eggsy huffs, lip curled and teeth bared as he stares at Merlin with blazing eyes. “Not bloody likely,” he snarls.

The tube finally slides open.

For a brief moment, Eggsy considers launching himself at Merlin and forcing the technician to give him a second chance, but he restrains himself. He’ll be going to the Court of fucking Appeals with this one. Getting Merlin fired will be a more civilized version of revenge.

Eggsy walks stiffly past him and on through the hallways, wrist burning at his side. He doesn’t want to look at it, doesn’t want to see his flesh marred by that damned Kingsman symbol. He makes it back to the lobby and groans at the sight that greets him through the glass doors. 

Reporters crowd the scene, no doubt eager to see what kind of future the youngest man fulfilled has in store. 

Eggsy doesn’t think he can stomach facing them or having to relive the disappointment he’s just gone through. “Is there another way out of here?” he asks Amelia faintly. 

She gives him a once-over and looks at the mob outside. Some hint of the desperation Eggsy feels must show on his face because she nods back the way he’d come. “There’s a back entrance at the very end of the corridor,” she says. “It’s usually alarmed, but I’ll deactivate it for you.”

“Thanks,” Eggsy mumbles. He turns and marches away without another word, resolutely not looking at the room where his fate had been sealed for the worse. Where did Merlin get off anyways, consigning someone he didn’t even know to a fate they didn’t want? What kind of person did that?

Amelia is good on her word; Eggsy slips through the back door without it making a sound. That alone is not enough to deter the journalists, he knows. They’re bloodhounds; they’ll find him no matter which exit he might use. His only choice is to go where they can’t follow. 

Eggsy reaches down to touch his toes, shakes out his limbs, and starts scanning his surroundings. The building next door is perfect for his purpose, made of brick and only a couple stories high. With the imagined baying of the reporters at his heels, Eggsy launches himself upwards. His fingers latch onto a second story window ledge, and he pulls himself upwards easily. From there, it’s a simple matter to haul himself onto the roof, then he’s truly off. 

It’s second nature to him, jumping from building to building, climbing when needed, descending only when he must. He manages to make it all the way back to the Estates with his feet only finding the ground thrice. It’s more than enough to keep anyone off his tail. 

Of course, it doesn’t guard against those outside his home. He shoves through their questions, grateful for the jacket that covers his new tattoo. If one of them were to get a glimpse of it… Headlines swim before his eyes.

_Assignment Tailor-Made for Youngest Man Fulfilled! _

_Stitches Mean Success for Gary Unwin! _

_Reality Lies in Needles and Fabric: Could it be right for_ you _?_

Eggsy makes his way through the crush with a few well-placed elbows, the determination to just be  _ alone _ with this disappointment turning him sharp. 

The one interrogator he is completely unable to avoid is waiting for him with a squirming little girl in her lap. “Eggsy, babes!” she says, face wreathed in a smile as he slips into their flat. “How’d it go, love?” She stands to press a kiss to his cheek, looking at him expectantly. 

Eggsy tries to meet her eyes, but his smile falls far short of genuine. “Went fine, mum.”

Michelle isn’t fooled. Her look sharpens, and she sets Daisy carefully on the sofa. “Eggsy? What’s happened? Where’ve you been assigned?” 

Mouth twisting grotesquely, Eggsy pushes back the sleeve of his jacket.

Michelle stares blankly at the mark on his wrist, shakes her head once. “I don’t understand,” she says. 

“A tailor, mum,” Eggsy says with a sigh pulled from the depths of him. “I’m just a tailor.” 

“But… but that can’t be right,” Michelle says. She moves slowly, as if in a dream, taking Eggsy’s wrist in her hand and running her thumb over the small circle.

Eggsy’s brow furrows as he watches her. His skin tingles under her touch, but the pain has faded on his journey home, the skin fading back to its usual color. “What’s wrong, mum?” 

Michelle opens her mouth to speak, but before she can there’s an ugly, sour smell, and a loud voice belches, “What ya got there, Muggsy? Brand new mark, eh? Let’s see it.” He snatches at Eggsy’s wrist, hustling Michelle out of the way. “There, then, what the fuck’s this?” 

Eggsy tugs his arm away. A muscle in his jaw twitches, but he knows Dean won’t leave him alone unless he answers. “It’s nothin’, Dean, just the mark of a tailor. Kingsman or some shit.”

Dean guffaws, alcohol-laden breath billowing into Eggsy’s face. “A tailor. Ya hear that, Michelle? Your boy’s gone and got hisself a posh job, ain’t he? Gonna be workin’ for all them posh blokes. Funny though, you’re more used to takin’ clothes off than puttin’ them on, ain’t ya?” He winks lewdly.

Eggsy’s blood boils, moreso at his mum’s obvious discomfort than his own. “Shut up,” he hisses. 

“Won’t even have to get on your back no more! Least you know how to service a proper gentleman,” Dean continues, leering delightedly. 

“I said  _ shut up _ !” Eggsy’s rage explodes into physicality. He lays hands on Dean’s chest and shoves him backwards, regretting the move even before it’s finished. 

Dean stumbles back a step, all the good humor gone from his face. “You little fuckin’ shit!” he roars. His hands fly around Eggsy’s throat as he forces him back against the wall. 

Michelle shrieks, but her attempts to pull him away from Eggsy are useless; Dean is seemingly oblivious to her pleas.

“I let you live in this flat, you hear me?” Dean says, nose a mere inch from Eggsy’s. “I save you and your mum, and this is how you treat me? Say you’re sorry.”

Eggsy lifts his hand in a gesture of surrender, but his mouth does not open to give the apology. He glares at Dean with hard eyes and stubborn-set jaw. The sorry bastard would love the satisfaction.

“Say you’re sorry,” Dean repeats. He emphasizes the point by slamming Eggsy’s head into the wall.

Stars explode in front of Eggsy’s eyes. “S… orry,” he chokes out around Dean’s hands. “I’m sorry.”

Dean slams his head back once more for good measure before letting him go. “Ain’t worth the effort I’ve wasted on ya, neither of yous,” he mutters as he stomps back to his bedroom.

Eggsy slides to his knees, gasping, rubbing one hand along the base of his throat. He’ll have to find some way to cover up the bruises that are sure to be there by morning. 

Michelle is on her knees beside him. Her hand travels soothingly over his back, and there are tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. After a moment, she gets to her feet and disappears into the bedroom with Dean.

It takes another minute or two for Eggsy to get back to his feet. He picks up Daisy, mercifully asleep, and places her gently in her crib. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, savoring the softness of her skin and the warm smell that always seems to linger around babies. Then he shuts himself up in his own room.

The medal is sitting right where he’d left it, next to the snowglobe he’d been playing with that fateful evening. The snowglobe brings back a flash of memory, the same one he’d seen in the tube earlier that day. A man in a suit kneeling in front of him, giving the globe a little twirl. Shaking off the image, Eggsy takes the medal in his hand. He runs his fingers over the knotted metal before something catches his eye. The pattern… 

He lifts his wrist and, sure enough, it looks almost exactly like the twisted gold resting in his other palm. The man who’d given it to him had known Lee Unwin, had told them of his death. But what connection would his father have had to tailors? 

A coincidence. It must be. Still, something compels Eggsy to dig out one of his old chain necklaces, fix the medal on, and slip it around his neck. It doesn’t make him feel any better about missing out on the Marines, but it is something, the only connection to his father he still has. 

Eggsy stretches out on his bed, fingers tracing idly over the medal as he stares at his Marked wrist. A full set, and the youngest to have it. His life mapped out right in front of his eyes. His Reality.

Most everyone has the tiny, purple handprint, the Mark of true friendship. Eggsy had gotten his when he was only a gap-toothed toddler on the playground and had stumbled across another, equally gap-toothed boy who’d declared that he’d ‘run away from home forever and Eggsy was his brother now’. Eggsy and Jamal had met Ryan a few years later and the three of them had formed their Marks together.

Talents was one of the more difficult ones. Some people didn’t earn the green plus signs until they were well into adulthood. Eggsy could see how it was easy to miss; he doesn’t know how he would have discovered he was good at freerunning if it weren’t for Dean and his crew constantly chasing him. He’d also discovered he was good with children thanks to Dean, and Eggsy hates owing him that, but there is nothing he can do to change it now. It was the last Mark he’d earned, a few days after Daisy had come into the world. The reporters had been there ever since.

Soulmates were where most wrists stayed bare. 7 billion people on the planet, and only one truly meant for each. The odds of gaining the small red heart were infinitesimal, and Eggsy knows he should count himself lucky to have it at all. Still, the small bit of resentment that he would never really know who it was burned within him. To have such a thing and be robbed of it at the same time almost seemed worse than never having it in the first place. 

The rarest of them all sits just below it. A blue equals sign: purpose. The true reason one was placed on this earth. Eggsy doesn’t know when he’d earned this one either. He’d noticed it the same time as he’d noticed his soulmate’s Mark, when he was only eight years old. What a thing, to know one has found their purpose and yet have no idea what it could be.

Eggsy stares up at his ceiling. It certainly doesn’t  _ feel _ like he’s found his purpose. At least, he hopes he hasn’t. There has to be more to his life than this, but the universe doesn’t make mistakes. Scowling, Eggsy turns to his side and closes his eyes. Kingsman better be fucking exciting. 

-

Hours later and Eggsy is still awake. He wants to do something stupid, something reckless. He wants to prove that is worth more than a tailoring job. The medal still a comforting weight around his neck, Eggsy heads out of the flat. 

Thankfully, all but one or two of the reporters have cleared out for the night, and Eggsy passes mostly unmolested.

He takes refuge in The Black Prince with a few pints to wash away his worries about the next day. He can sense some stares, a few muttered asides, but he hunches his shoulders up to his ears, tries to make himself as unapproachable as possible. It must work because no one comes up to him… until Dean’s lapdogs take over the table across from him.

Eggsy groans. They are the last people he wants to deal with right now. He does his best to ignore them, but when they move into lewd jokes about his mother, he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t confront them, not really, just gets Rottie riled enough to go toe-to-toe with him. Just close enough for Eggsy to knick his keys.

He feels more alive than he has for a long time as he rips away from the pub on stolen wheels, laughing joyfully at the look on Rottie’s face. He weaves effortlessly through traffic, chased by the red, white, blue of police lights. Their sirens sing through his veins, only urging him to go faster. He shows off to himself, taking nearly half a mile backwards before swinging around to face front again.

But there’s a fox in his path, and he can’t hit it, not even knowing what will happen to him if he doesn’t. Eggsy wrenches the wheel around. The impact shakes him to his very bones.

By the time they reach the police station, it’s already abuzz with his capture. Everyone wants to get a peek at him, the youngest fulfilled, in handcuffs.

Eggsy’s hackles raise under their stares, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’s done enough damage to his reputation for one night.

They muscle him into a holding room, ask him if he wants to make a phone call. Eggsy refuses. He doesn’t have anyone to call anyways.  

A minute later they’re telling him he’s released.

Eggsy’s head spins, but he doesn’t question why. It isn’t worth them realizing they’ve made a mistake in letting him go. He’ll take the freedom without question. ‘Without question’ only lasts a few steps out of the station.

A man whose face he’s only seen in lightning-fast playback over the years stands leaning against the steps, and he doesn’t look amused.

Eggsy stops in front of him, brow furrowed, medal burning against his skin. “I know you,” he says.

“You’ve met me,” the man corrects gently. “My name is Harry Hart. I’ve been sent to collect you.”

“Sent?” Eggsy repeats. No one had even known he was in there. “Sent by who?”

One corner of Harry’s mouth lifts in a wry smile. “Kingsman.”

-

Eggsy is certain of one thing: this isn’t happening. He’s not walking into the tailor shop he’d tried so hard to avoid with a man he vaguely remembers from when he was eight, and he’s certainly not seeing who he thinks he’s seeing waiting for them in a leather chair.

“You,” Eggsy snarls. “Just wait till I fuckin’ set the courts on you, won’t have that nice, cushy tech job for long.”

Merlin seems blatantly unimpressed with his threat. “I take it that you haven’t explained what’s going on yet, have you, Harry?”

“Haven’t had the chance, I’m afraid,” Harry says, but he doesn’t look very apologetic to Eggsy.

“Alright,” Eggsy says, raising his hand like he’s back in primary school. “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

Harry looks to Merlin, who inclines his head, deferring to Harry. “Sit,” Harry says. He guides Eggsy to one of the chairs and practically pushes him down into it.

Eggsy folds his arms over his chest, raising a challenging brow at Harry as he too takes a seat.

“Merlin tells me Kingsman was the highest result on your aptitude test,” Harry begins. “That hardly ever happens. I apologize that you didn’t get to truly make your own choice, but we must open the door when opportunity knocks.” He offers a smile that doesn’t come close to making up for what Eggsy’s gone through but might be a start. “Despite appearances, Kingsman is not a tailor shop.”

Eggsy makes a big show of looking around. “Could’ve fooled me,” he says.

“Yes, well,” Harry says, that smile back in place. “That is rather the point. A cover is only a cover if people believe it.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy says challengingly. “And what is this coverin’ for? You secretly the Diogenes Club or somethin’?”

Genuine amusement sparkles in Harry’s eyes now. “Something rather more exciting, I hope. Kingsman is a front for a top secret spy organization operating at the highest level of discretion.”

White noise fills Eggsy’s ears. He’s pretty sure Harry says something about World War II and a lot of money, but he doesn’t really care. It has become abundantly clear that he is still being toyed with. Frankly, he’s sick of it. “Right,” he says, interrupting Harry’s impromptu history lesson. “I’m off to the Marines. Ain’t sittin’ here listenin’ to you pullin’ my leg all night just cause I got some fuckin’ tattoo I didn’t even want.”

He’s on his feet before Harry clears his throat. “If I could ask you to stay a moment more. I have something for you.”

Something about his tone keeps Eggsy where he is. He scowls, arms still crossed tightly across his chest, but lingers. “Go on.”

Harry pulls a small rectangle out of his jacket pocket and holds it out.

Eggsy takes it from him, confusion plain on his face. His heart seizes when he sees what it is. A photograph, an old Polaroid, his father’s face smiling back at him. He’s dressed sharply in a suit, arm slung around Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks a bit younger, but Eggsy’s dad looks exactly the way he remembers him. It couldn’t have been taken long before his death. “Why are you showin’ me this?” he rasps and hates the way his voice sounds.

“Look at his wrist,” Harry says quietly.

Eggsy does, but he already knows what he’s going to see. Sure enough, the mark is there, a small circle with a black ‘k’ inside it. Eggsy lifts his own wrist. They’re perfectly identical. Suddenly, his mum’s reaction makes sense.

“But that can’t be right,” she’d said.

That can’t be right because a tailor couldn’t die in service to the country. A tailor couldn’t earn a medal. A tailor couldn’t warrant a strange man coming to their house in the middle of the evening with the assertion that Lee Unwin had saved his life.

Eggsy slowly lifts his eyes from the photograph to Harry. “So what does this mean,” he asks, but it doesn’t come out much like a question.

“Traditionally, Kingsman has been very lineage-based. Hereditary, if you will. Many of our members come from traditional families, those who have been in it since the very beginning. It makes sense, I suppose. We train the members of our family specifically for the aptitude test, so they are nearly guaranteed a place, should they wish it. But you and your father…” Harry trails off with a sad nod to the photograph. “Lee Unwin was the first in three decades to qualify for Kingsman without having family ties. It seems you, like him, are a break in the pattern. Although it doesn’t seem like you’re very fond of adhering to patterns.” Harry nods to Eggsy’s wrist.

Eggsy looks at it too, gaze drawn to the one black mark. Could all this really be true? Could Lee, his father, really been part of a secret spy organization? And if he had been, could Eggsy really turn down the same opportunity?

Merlin’s voice shakes Eggsy from his thoughts. “For what it’s worth, lad, our aptitude tests are never wrong.”

Eggsy’s scowl is back. “And you couldn’t have told me all this at the Assignment Facility?” he says accusatorily. Black anger still simmers just below the surface at the betrayal.

Merlin grimaces. “Not all the employees of the facility are Kingsman operatives. I couldn’t risk being overheard.”

It’s not enough to satisfy Eggsy, not by a long shot. Still… “I could be a spy, then.”

“If you aren’t still intent on marching out to join the Marines,” Harry agrees, inclining his head. “Although,” he adds, warning in his tone, “you would not be able to tell your soulmate your true purpose. It can be hard, having to hide something like this.”

Eggsy blinks in dull surprise at the red heart on his wrist as if he’d forgotten it was there. “I ain’t really got one,” he says dully. “Well, I mean, I do, but I ain’t got any idea who it is. So…” He trails off with a shrug.

Harry and Merlin exchange a look Eggsy can’t quite read.

Something occurs to Eggsy then, as he looks at his wrist. “How’s the whole discretion thing gonna work, me bein’ who I am?” He rubs his thumb over his myriad of Marks.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “An interesting question. The simple answer is, we don’t bother with discretion.”

Eggsy’s face asks the question for him.

“Think about it,” Merlin says. “You let them see you coming in and out of here a few times, keep your silence, let them think you’ve settled into a routine. There’s only so long they can stay interested in a young man with a steady nine to five.”

Humming thoughtfully, Eggsy turns to Harry. “What do you think about all this?”

Harry spreads his hands amicably. “I think the choice is yours. If you leave for reassignment, it will be a painful process, but one I am sure you will survive. Staying, on the other hand, will present its own set of challenges.”

Eggsy looks back down at the photograph. Lee had clearly trusted Harry. And been killed for it. No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d died to save Harry. Something about the man must have been worth saving.

The silence stretches out, longer and longer, time measured in ticking heart beats. Eggsy can hear it clearly in his ears, drowning out all else.

Finally, he speaks. “I’ll stay.”

Harry gives him a soft, approving smile. Eggsy makes to hand the photograph back, but Harry shakes his head. “It belongs to you more than me,” he says. “Keep it.”

Eggsy slides it carefully into his pocket. “So… what do I do now?” he asks.

“Go home,” Merlin answers. “Go home, get some rest, come back here tomorrow and make sure you’re seen. We’ll take it day by day.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and yet Eggsy hesitates. He’s inexplicably drawn to Harry, wants to linger in his presence. It must be because of the bond he and his father shared, Eggsy figures. Harry is a living link, one he’s afraid of losing if he lets him out of his sight. Eggsy curls his fingers around the medal and clears his throat. “Alright. I’ll see you later, then. Harry.” He nods farewell.

“Eggsy.” Harry nods in kind.

Eggsy walks out of the shop and can’t help but feel as if he’s left a part of himself behind. The feeling doesn’t last long.

“Eggsy!” Harry says behind him, pulling him to a halt.

Eggsy turns to see Harry staring at him intently, and his heart misses a beat. “Yeah?”

“Your neck,” Harry says, gesturing to his own. “What happened to it?”

Dammit. Eggsy hadn’t thought to cover up before heading out to the pub. People there normally didn’t ask questions. His fingertips trace over the bruises, and he smiles humorlessly. “Oh, that,” he mutters. “Just from the accident. Shouldn’t have slammed my car into the wall, should I?”

Harry’s mouth twists as if he can see there’s more to it than that, but in the end he just nods. “Perhaps use the brakes next time,” he says wryly.

“Yeah,” Eggsy grins. “See you in the mornin’, Harry.”

-

The first few weeks of being a tailor are just as boring as Eggsy feared they would be. ‘An unfortunate necessity’ Merlin calls it, and Eggsy can at least agree with the unfortunate part. He has to make sure he’s seen, make sure the journalists hound him all the way to Kingsman’s door.

They set him to menial tasks to keep him in the front of the shop. He learns the proper way to hang suits, fold slacks, arrange pocket handkerchiefs. Once, he even learns how to mend a very small seam and gets pricked fingers for it.

The only good part about his, for lack of a better term, self-exhibition is Dagonet. The elderly gentleman who normally runs the shop is infinitely patient with Eggsy, and he has a surprisingly dry sense of humor that makes dealing with the customers more tolerable. Putting up with posh pricks is much easier when Eggsy knows he’ll get a sarcastic comment from Dagonet at the end of it.

It takes a while, but eventually Merlin’s prediction comes true. The journalists stop paying him so much attention. They drift away in pairs, flock depleting day by day, until one day Eggsy steps out of his flat to find that there isn’t a single person waiting for him. A sense of freedom that he hasn’t had since he first finished his Reality washes over him, and Eggsy is practically giddy with it all the way to Kingsman.

Harry is waiting for him at the shop.

Eggsy grins broadly at him, leaning cheekily against Dagonet’s desk. “Finally ready to make me a spy?”

Harry returns the smile with a small inclination of his head. “Follow me.” He turns and disappears into the first fitting room, leaves the door ajar.

Eggsy’s brow furrows. He glances at Dagonet, but the man just tilts his head towards the room. Eggsy has been in the fitting room several times since he’s started at Kingsman. It’s normal enough, filled with the tools of the trade, the three-way mirror always perfectly polished. Eggsy steps inside to find Harry waiting for him. “You gonna make me a suit?” he asks in an attempt to cover up his confusion.

“Eventually,” Harry says. Without another word, he places his hand on one of those smudge-free mirrors, and suddenly it isn’t quite a mirror anymore.

Eggsy thought he couldn’t really be surprised by much anymore. After all, the spy thing had been a pretty big shock to begin with, and he was certain there were all manner of gadgets hidden around the store. He has to admit that he never considered that the fitting room might be a lift.

The floor shudders as it starts sinking downwards. They leave the facade of the fitting room behind, forest green wallpaper giving way to aged brick.

“What the fuck,” Eggsy whispers softly. He thinks he sees Harry smirk out of the corner of his eye. His neck cranes backwards as they fall deeper and deeper until the room above them is little more than a pinprick of light. He’s just opened his mouth to ask how far down they’re going when a strip of light spills over his feet.

It grows wider, brighter, as they leave the brick away in favor of what looks like a private underground. The carriage doesn’t look like the typical train car; in fact, Eggsy thinks it looks rather like the tube in the Assignment Facility.

Unease twists low in his gut as he remembers the discomfort that had brought, and he feels a strange reluctance to get into the small bullet. Then Harry is there, one hand stretched out invitingly towards Eggsy, a reassuring smile on his face, and Eggsy doesn’t hesitate. He climbs into the seat opposite and doesn’t even shudder as the door slides shut behind them.

Eggsy doesn’t know how long they’re in the bullet. He doesn’t know how far they travel, or even where they’re going. All he knows is that it’s impossible to focus on anything other than the man sitting across from him. Eggsy might not know anything about him, but he still feels like there’s something  _ right _ about this, like he was always meant to find himself sitting in this exact spot with this exact person.

The medal bounces against his chest with the movement of the bullet. Eggsy curls his hand around it automatically. “So, you knew my dad,” he says, breaking a silence that was more comfortable than awkward.

Harry blinks as if he’s only just remembered there is someone with him. “I did. A fine man, Lee Unwin. He would have made a wonderful agent.”

Eggsy runs his thumb along the edge of the medal. “Was he really the first person to come from outside your little…” He rolls his hand while he tries to think of an appropriate term, “...gene pool?”

Harry’s mouth twitches in amusement. “In a sense. Our organization has become a little exclusive over the years, and I’m afraid not everyone welcomed your father the way he should have been.” Harry runs his eyes over Eggsy. “They might not be so eager to see you either.”

Eggsy shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t sound much different from anywhere else, then, really,” he says wryly.

Harry looks like he wants to respond, but the tube slides smoothly to a halt before he gets the chance.

Eggsy’s first glimpse of Kingsman, the real Kingsman, takes his breath away. It’s as bright and clean as the Assignment Facility, but it thrums with a quiet energy, a life pulse that the government building had lacked. He gapes at the hangar full of private jets, men scuttling among them like ants. He barely notices when Harry moves on and has to force himself away from the sight.

“Jesus,” Eggsy mutters to himself. Just what has he gotten himself into? 

-

Charlie is jealous. “Should’ve been me,” he mutters. “ _I_ was supposed to be the youngest. Whoever my fucking soulmate is just needs to show up.”

Digby is indifferent. “A few marks don’t prove anything. Don’t go thinking you’re better than the rest of us.” A smirk. “Something tells me that won’t be an issue.”

Roxy is the only one who acts like it’s something of note. “So, you’re the one who’s already finished his Reality. What’s that like?”

Eggsy is forced to admit that it isn’t really like much.

He lays awake that first night, staring up at the ceiling and running his thumb over his wrist again. The presence of other recruits had been confusing at first, but Merlin had explained that their aptitude test only showed their potential. They still had to earn a place at Kingsman. Eggsy is determined to make it. He wants to make his father proud, and this is the only way he knows how. 

Eggsy stares down at his the blue Mark denoting his purpose. His hand moves almost automatically to the medal he still wears at his throat. Could the two be connected? Could Kingsman be his purpose? A small thrill runs through him. To find it after so many years… The thought is intoxicating.

Then, suddenly, there’s water lapping at his chest, and Eggsy’s thoughts turn more towards survival. 

-

“So, what are you going to tell your soulmate?” Roxy asks Eggsy. They’re huddled in a particularly dense patch of shrubbery, swathed in black, and peering intently through night vision goggles.

“What?” Eggsy mutters, focused more on scanning the forest around them than her question.

“Your soulmate. You know you can’t tell them about Kingsman.”

Eggsy shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t really gotta worry about that. I don’t live with them or anythin’.”

Roxy’s brow furrows, and she draws back to look at him. “I… didn’t know that was an option.” 

Shrugging, Eggsy shoots her a quick grin. “Kinda nice, ain’t it? Not really bein’ tied to anyone.” He turns back to his binoculars.

They don’t talk for the rest of the test. 

-

Eggsy wakes up in the middle of the night feeling distinctly nauseous. He stumbles over to the line of sinks and splashes cold water in his face. It helps wake him up a bit, but it does nothing to settle his roiling stomach. In vain, he tries to fall back asleep, finds it impossible, goes through the next morning’s training like a zombie.

Roxy asks him what’s wrong. 

He mumbles back something about being sick.

Eggsy misses every single target at the firing range, and Merlin orders him to medical. At this point, Eggsy isn’t even going to argue. He makes his way there with one hand against the wall to keep himself upright.  

A nurse takes one look at him and guides him to a bed. “Sit,” she says sternly. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous,” Eggsy says. HIs stomach hasn’t quieted since he’d woken up, and he’s felt vaguely like he was going to be sick all day. “Don’t got a fever or anythin’, though.”

The nurse studies him with a critical eye. She reaches for his wrist and nods, as if it confirms exactly what she’d been thinking. “It isn’t you,” she tells him. “It’s your soulmate.”

Eggsy blinks up at her, hearing but not comprehending. “Sorry, what?” 

“Your soulmate,” she repeats. “Whoever they are, I’m afraid they’ve been gravely injured.” She gives him a sympathetic look. 

Eggsy stares at the small red heart like he’s never seen it before. “It’s… I’ve never felt this before,” he says slowly. 

“No?” the nurse says, already busying herself with some pills. “Perhaps you have a particularly careful soulmate. Here.” She hands Eggsy a bottle. “These will help dull your connection; you might still experience some symptoms, but they won’t be nearly as strong.” 

“Cheers, thanks.” Eggsy pockets the bottle and gets to his feet. His head spins with the revelation that his soulmate is out there somewhere, hurting. He’s filled with the sudden desire to run out there and find them, finally fill in that missing part of him. Quickly, he digs the bottle back out and swallows down one of the pills. Best not to find them anyways. It will make being a Kingsman much easier. 

On his way out of the medical ward, he spots a familiar face amongst the mostly empty beds. Eggsy pauses, misses a step. Without meaning to, his feet carry him to Harry’s bedside.

It doesn’t look right, Harry’s normally styled hair spilling down over his face so haphazardly. 

Eggsy’s fingers twitch with the desire to brush the locks back into place. He’s reaching out to do just that when the nurse clears her throat behind him.

“Mr. Unwin! I would appreciate it if you didn’t disturb my patient,” she says, irritation sharpening her tone. 

Eggsy jerks back as if burned. “Yeah… Right. Sorry,” he says, turning to her with an apologetic smile. “I”ll just be goin’, then.” 

Eggsy returns to the firing range and loses himself in the familiar movements of firing, reloading, firing again. He drives his thoughts away with gunpowder blasts and a raging heartbeat and does not allow himself to think. 

-

The next few nights, Eggsy sleeps poorly. He closes his eyes only to find himself back in medical, staring down at Harry with his hair mussed, tubes and wires running out of his body. That distinct feeling of _wrong_ tightens his chest until he feels like he can’t breathe properly. More than once, he wakes from the dreams panting, has to shake the cobwebs of it away before he realizes he’s still in the barracks with the other recruits.

Eggsy ignores the pills, though his nausea is far from faded. He likes it, strangely enough, likes the reminder that he isn’t alone in the universe. Someone  _ is _ out there for him. And, someday, he will find them. 

His training doesn’t suffer much for his distraction. It’s almost frighteningly easy to slip into the role of a spy.

They run, jump, climb, follow every order they’re given until there’s only six of them left.

Eggsy doesn’t realize Roxy’s afraid of heights until they’re 30,000 feet in the air and being told to jump out of the plane. “You can do this, Rox,” he tells her. “I promise you, you can.” He tumbles out of the plane and hopes she follows. 

All of them are coasting on adrenaline, Roxy included when she finally joins them. It turns to ice in their veins when Merlin tells them one of them doesn’t have a parachute.

Eggsy’s head empties of everything except the situation. He doesn’t think about Realities, doesn’t think about his soulmate, just thinks about the pain of hitting the ground, the fact that one of them has been tricked into plummeting to their death. They pair up, change it into a circle when that plan goes to shit.

Eggsy doesn’t think Roxy is likely to ever get in plane again.

Their grip on each other turns white-knuckled as the others open their chutes one by one. Finally, it is just him and Roxy, and that’s when the rest of the world crashes back in on him. What will his soulmate feel if he dies? He clings to Roxy and tells her to open the chute even as the ground rushes up towards them.

She pulls her cord. Fabric billows upwards. 

Anger doesn’t replace fear until Eggsy is firmly back on the ground. He stalks over to Merlin with gritted teeth and anger-fueled words. “Am I the expendable candidate?”

Then Merlin pulls his cord, and Eggsy’s own chute yanks him off his feet. Merlin stalks off without another word. 

-

There’s only three of them left after that test. Charlie isn’t laughing very much anymore.

-

Things only improve when Eggsy receives word that Harry is up and about again. He wants desperately to see him, but Harry’s off on another mission before Eggsy gets the chance. Eggsy swallows down his disappointment and focuses on the last of his own training.

Their newest mission presents him with distinct disadvantage.

“Get to know her,” Merlin orders them as they stare at the picture of a gorgeous young woman. “Biblically.” 

Eggsy’s soulmate mark refuses to disappear, even under copious amounts of makeup. He settles for a jacket with sleeves neatly pulled down over his wrists. He’ll just have to hope Lady Sophie doesn’t have an eye for detail. 

The high-end clubs bring back memories Eggsy would much rather have kept buried. He looks at the young men and women lounging on the laps of their betters, jewels glittering on their fingers, at their throats, and has to turn away. He knows how their nights will end. 

Eggsy weaves his way through the crowd until he spots the soft golden curls he’s looking for. His target is already under assault by Roxy and Charlie both, and Eggsy takes a swig of bitter champagne to fortify himself. It tastes strangely familiar. Perhaps he’s been in this very club before, sipped this very champagne.

When his eyelids feel like lead and his stomach heaves, Eggsy realizes how he knows it. He fights with all his might against the rising tide of black, but biology is his enemy. There is nothing he can do but submit.

Heavy-lidded, dry-mouthed, Eggsy wakes. He moves to scrub at his face only to find his hands secured tightly to… railroad tracks. Panic overtakes him, and he squirms in the rope’s grip. “Fuck!”

A man emerges from the shadows, the same one who’d served them the drugged champagne at the club. “What the fuck is Kingsman?” he asks. “Who’s Harry Hart?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” Eggsy screams as he’s bathed in the light of an oncoming train.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _ he says to his soulmate. _ I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I’m sorry you have to feel this. _ He squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the pain. 

It doesn’t come. The train passes overhead with a deafening rumble, but Eggsy is alive at the end of it. Maybe, Eggsy thinks briefly, he’s invincible. Maybe he’ll stay that way until he finds his purpose. But no, as it turns out, it was only another test, never designed to be fatal.

Harry stands staring down at Eggsy impassively.

Eggsy is suddenly struck with the impression that it’s taking a great amount of effort to keep that mask in place, and he can’t help but wonder why. What is he to Harry

“Roxy passed with flying colors,” Harry tells him. “Charlie is up next. Do you want to watch?”

And then there are two. 

-

If all goes well the next day, this will be their last night in the barracks. Eggsy and Roxy are settled on one bed, Eggsy combing through Roxy’s hair with his fingers.

“Crazy, innit?” he asks.

“Yes,” she agrees. “What do you think the others will do?”

Eggsy shrugs one shoulder. He doesn’t want to think about what he’ll do, what he’ll go back to if he doesn’t become a Kingsman. The medal feels like a weight around his neck. “Probably get reassigned,” he mumbles. 

Roxy chews at her bottom lip. “A jockey for me, then,” she says. “It wouldn’t be such a bad job, I suppose.” Her tone turns dry. “I’d get to stay on the ground.”

Eggsy laughs, starts twisting her hair into a braid. 

“What would you do?” Roxy asks, nudging his foot with hers. 

Eggsy stays quiet for a long time. “Think I’d try and find my soulmate,” he finally says.

Roxy twists around to look at him incredulously. “I thought you said it was convenient. You were always going on about how nice it was not to have someone tying you down.”

“What, a guy’s not allowed to change his mind?” Eggsy asks with a smirk. It falls away into a sight, and he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s just… I got all these Marks on my wrist, yeah? But it don’t feel like they mean anything. Sure don’t feel like I’ve finished my Reality. Got the Mark for purpose, got the Mark for soulmate, but where the fuck are they?”

Roxy makes a small sound, and he realizes he’s fisted his hands around her hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, untangling his fingers.

Waving away his apology, Roxy takes Eggsy’s hands in hers. “You’ll find them,” she says quietly, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I know you will.” 

-

Eggsy is more than a little underwhelmed by the apparent head of Kingsman. 

Arthur sits across from him with rheumatic, judgmental eyes, and Eggsy knows he’ll never be the type of man Arthur’s looking for. Prejudice is too deeply embedded in the lines on his face, the age spots on his hands.

“Your father made it to this point,” Arthur says blithely. “I must say, I was surprised. Given his upbringing, I doubted he would be able to make it amongst his betters. And you! You have proved equally surprising, not just in the Kingsman trials. Let me see your Marks.” He holds his hand out expectantly.

Feeling an awful lot like he’s something on display, Eggsy stretches out his wrist.

“Remarkable,” Arthur says. He traces leathery fingers over the Marks. “Yes, quite remarkable for one so young.” He offers Eggsy a paper-thin smile, and Eggsy returns it unwillingly.

Eggsy is just beginning to wonder if this has just been a particularly awkward interview when the door opens, and Harry steps in.

“Harry-” Eggsy starts, relief that he isn’t alone with Arthur anymore flooding over him. Almost as soon as he says it, he realizes something isn’t quite right. 

Harry’s clothes are spattered in blood, his gun is drawn, his eyes are narrowed, fixed on Arthur. 

Eggsy doesn’t give himself the chance to think. He steps smoothly in front of Arthur, arms outspread.

Only then does Harry really seem to see him. “Eggsy,” he says, as if he doesn’t have a gun leveled at his heart, as if he hasn’t betrayed the organization Eggsy has tied his loyalty to.

“What-” Eggsy voice comes out as barely more than a whisper, and he has to clear his throat and try again. “What are you doin’?” 

Harry smiles patronizingly. “Oh, Eggsy, use your head, and step out of the way. Do you think this old coward would do the same for you?” He nods contemptuously towards Arthur. 

Arthur presses something cold and heavy against Eggsy’s back.

Eggsy reaches for it carefully, realizes it’s a pistol. His brain slams into overdrive. Arthur wants him to shoot Harry. Harry is betraying Kingsman. Eggsy is the only thing between him and the head of the organization. The gun nearly slips from his nerveless fingers as he raises it to aim at Harry’s chest.

Harry’s lips peel back in a sardonic laugh. “You still have a chance, Eggsy. Kingsman doesn’t have its claws in you quite yet; you could join me. Besides… do you really think you could shoot me?”

“Do you really think you’d be the first man I’ve killed?” Eggsy asks, surprising himself with how steady his voice is, the undercurrent of steel it holds.

Harry seems to falter at that, gun dipping down for a fraction of a second. 

It’s now or never. Blood flashes in front of Eggsy’s eyes again, a scream echoes in his ears. He drowns it out with one of his own as he fires. 

Harry is standing in front of him looking none the worse for wear. There’s no blood. There’s no bullet hole. 

The gun tumbles from Eggsy’s shaking hands. “What… What the fuck is goin’ on?” he asks faintly.

“The final test,” Harry says quietly. “Congratulations, Eggsy. You passed.” 

-

Standard procedure, Merlin tells him. New-made Kingsman agents always spend their first week in the headquarters until proper living arrangements can be secured. 

Personally, Eggsy thinks he could do with some time away from Kingsman. He wants to clear his head after that mindfuck of a final assessment. 

It hadn’t been real, any of it. Harry wasn’t a traitor. The gun had held only blanks. Even the blood had just been a convincing facsimile, artfully painted on by a couple of the other agents.

Eggsy thinks it might be a very long time before he forgives either the organization or the individuals for what they’ve put him through.

He’d exploded at Harry as soon as he’d realized what happened. “What the fuck kind of test is this?” he’d yelled, taking a step forward. “I thought I’d shot you! I thought I’d  _ killed _ you! The train test, that was one thing, but this is a new level of fucked up, Harry.” 

Harry had stood against his onslaught with hands raised placatingly, features twisted into sympathy. “I realize you’re upset-” 

“Upset don’t even begin to cover it,” Eggsy had snarled. 

“If you’d give me a moment, I can explain-” 

“You know what? At the moment? Not really interested.” Eggsy had stalked out with sparing either of them another look. He’d met Roxy in the hallway looking as shell-shocked as he felt. 

They’re together now, tangled together on Eggsy’s bed. Roxy’s arm is draped over Eggsy’s waist, his hand strokes down her back. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he’d asked when she’d showed up in his doorway. 

Her only answer had been to crawl into his bed and curl up next to him.

Now, however, she breaks her silence. “I had to shoot Merlin,” she mumbles quietly. “I thought…” 

“He’d betrayed Kingsman?” Eggsy asks dryly. He’s trying not to remember how he felt pulling the trigger on Harry, the moment he’d been certain he’d died at Eggsy’s hand.

Roxy nods and buries her face in Eggsy’s neck. “That was horrible. I’d never shot anyone before.” A pause. “I guess I still haven’t.”

Eggsy traces his fingers down her spine and hums consolingly. “Least we passed,” he mutters. 

According to Merlin, it wasn’t often that they accepted two recruits from the same class, but they could find fault with nothing in other of their performances. Roxy and Eggsy were both going to take their place as knights.

There’s a knock and the door. Roxy and Eggsy exchange a glance before untangling themselves and sitting up. 

“Come in,” Eggsy says warily.

Harry steps in, faltering when he sees Roxy pressed close to Eggsy. “Miss Morton… Eggsy, I wanted to apologize.”

Eggsy’s lip curls. He looks away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” he snaps.

Harry looks almost desperately at Roxy, and she takes the hint.

“I’ll come back later, love,” she says. When Eggsy nods, she drops a quick kiss on his cheek and leaves the room. She casts a disapproving glance back over her shoulder at Harry as she goes.

Harry shuts the door behind her, but Eggsy stubbornly doesn’t move. “I realize the test can be a little taxing,” he starts.

Eggsy’s shoulders tense. He bites back sarcasm; it leaves an ugly taste behind his teeth.

“Eggsy, I truly am sorry. Had I known how deeply you would be affected, I would have sent another knight in my place.”

That snaps Eggsy out of his self-imposed silence. “Think that highly of yourself, do you?” he spits and the words are acid, meant to wound. “Don’t go thinkin’ you’re somethin’ special to me. That would’ve had me fucked no matter who it was.” It isn’t true, and Eggsy knows that, but right now he doesn’t care. He savors the hurt that flashes through Harry’s eyes, wants more of it, wants Harry to hurt as much as Eggsy had when he’d pulled the trigger.

Eggsy moves off the bed, gets to his feet, places a hand on Harry’s chest and pushes. “It’s sick, Harry, playin’ with me like that.” His palm burns where it rests over Harry’s heart, and Eggsy drops his hand before his skin can actually burst into flame. 

Harry takes a step back. “For what it’s worth, I’ve advocated for a different loyalty test.” 

Eggsy snorts. “Ain’t worth much. Get the fuck out of here.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

Harry takes a few more steps back. “It might relieve you to know that I’m flying to Kentucky for a mission. When I return, I’d like to have the chance to make it up to you.”

Eggsy’s anger somewhat dissolves under the genuinely distressed look Harry’s giving him. “...Fine,” he acquiesces. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Harry nods once before turning and leaving Eggsy alone.

Utterly spent, Eggsy slumps back onto his bed. He sinks into the bed, buries his face into his pillow, and screams.

At some point, he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he’s blinking awake to find a laptop on the foot of his bed with a yellow sticky note stuck on top. Rubbing his eyes, Eggsy plucks the note off. 

_ Harry thought you might like to watch.  _

_ -M  _

Curiosity compels Eggsy to pull the computer into his lap. It whirs to life as soon as he opens it. For a second, the first person point of view is disorienting, but Eggsy quickly realizes he’s seeing through Harry’s eyes via his glasses.

Harry appears to be in some sort of church, sharply dressed men and women seated around him, a red-faced pastor pounding the pulpit.

Eggsy ups the volume until he can hear exactly what the preacher’s preaching. Eggsy’s face crinkles in distaste as the pastor damns American society as a whole, sermonizes their doom. 

Merlin must say something because Harry starts moving, trying to make his way out of the pew. A woman stops him, and Eggsy lets out a snort of laughter at Harry’s reply. 

Idly, he wonders if Harry really does have a black, Jewish boyfriend. He’s got the soulmate Mark; Eggsy supposes it’s possible. The thought is strangely unpleasant, and Eggsy focuses back on the screen.

Harry is heading for the doors, nearly out them, when he stops completely.

Eggsy can’t figure out what might have stopped him.

The congregation slowly rises to their feet around him, and Eggsy feels his heart speeding up in his chest. Something seems to have gone very, very wrong. Then Harry pulls his gun out of his suit pocket, aims it at the woman berating him, and fires.

Everything goes to shit. 

“Shit!” Eggsy exclaims audibly as Harry throws himself into a newly-born bloodbath. What the hell is Harry doing?

Eggsy watches with mounting anxiety as more and more of the church-goers fall beneath Harry’s hands. He moves like a man possessed, completely unstoppable. The blast from his own grenade knocks him to his feet, and Eggsy mentally urges him to get up, get out of there.

Harry doesn’t stop until he’s the last man standing. He looks around at the destruction, glasses sweeping over the macabre scene.

Eggsy’s heart breaks in his chest. Harry didn’t mean to do that. He couldn’t have. 

Harry stumbles into the sunlight to find Valentine waiting for him, a dark-haired woman at his side. 

Eggsy’s eyes narrow. He recognizes Valentine from the news, but he can’t imagine what he has to do with a small church in Kentucky. Until he opens his mouth and starts speaking. This can’t be happening. 

It is with a detached sense of reality that Eggsy watches Valentine raise the barrel of his gun. The muzzle flashes and Harry’s feed cuts. Pain explodes outwards from Eggsy’s wrist, and a harsh, strangled sounds rips itself out of his throat. He clutches his arm to his chest, his mind a confused jumble of thought, before he pitches forward and everything goes black. 

-

He wakes to find Roxy shaking him desperately. “Eggsy? Eggsy, you have to wake up. I need you to wake up!”

Groggily, Eggsy peels his eyes open. The light sends shocks of pain through his head, and he groans, draping his arm over his face. “What?” he croaks. “What’s goin’ on?” 

Roxy looks like she’s barely holding back tears. “We thought you were dead,” she breathes. “Merlin came to check on you after Harry’s feed cut out, and he found you-”    


But Eggsy feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs at the word. Harry. Slowly, slowly, he drops his gaze to his wrist. _The universe doesn’t make mistakes, the universe doesn’t make mistakes, the universe doesn’t…_

There his heart sits, tattooed into his body by fate itself; such a small thing he’d never really known it’s worth. Nothing remains of it but a faint red outline. Eggsy hears a choked gasp that he only later realizes came from him. He presses a hand to his mouth, eyes fixed on the outline that seems to be getting fainter even as he watches.

Roxy’s hands are on his shoulders instantly. “What is it? Eggsy, what’s wrong?”

It takes everything Eggsy has to say the words. “He’s mine,” he whispers through his fingers.

“What?” Roxy leans in closer, concern written in her furrowed brows, the way her grip tightens.

“Harry,” Eggsy rasps. “He’s my soulmate. Was.”

“Oh, Eggsy,” Roxy says, and he’s never heard her so gentle. She cradles the back of his head, draws him into her arms. “I’m here,” she says over and over again. “I’m here.”

Eggsy turns his face into her neck and wishes tears would come. He can’t do anything but stay in the comfort she provides, hands shaking too much to cling to her. His wrist still throbs with pain every so often, but it is nothing compared to his abused heart. Harry had been within his reach for months, and Eggsy had never even known. He has gained and lost in the span of a few heartbeats. 

The door opens a few moments later. Merlin clears his throat. “Roxanne. May I speak to you for a moment?” He sounds incredibly strained, but Eggsy can’t bring himself to care.

“Eggsy? Is that alright?” Roxy asks quietly, carding her fingers gently through his hair.

With a reluctant sigh, Eggsy releases her. He draws into himself instead, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. He stares at Roxy and Merlin who have fallen to quiet conversation in the doorway. 

Roxy freezes, casts a half-desperate glance back Eggsy’s way. They almost seem to be arguing. 

“What are two goin’ on about?” Eggsy asks. His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, more of an echo than anything else.

Cautiously, as if Eggsy is more wild animal than person, Roxy approaches him. “Kingsman has been betrayed,” she says slowly.

Eggsy narrows his eyes. This can’t possibly be another test… can it? But Roxy surely wouldn’t be in on it. He nods, makes a ‘go on’ motion with one hand.

“Arthur tried to recruit Merlin to Valentine’s side, and he… he tried to kill him when Merlin refused,” Roxy explains.    


“So we don’t have an Arthur,” Eggsy says flatly. 

Roxy shakes her head. “More than that, we have to stop Valentine.” 

Eggsy doesn’t feel like he can get off this bed, let alone stop a megalomaniac from taking over the world. “I can’t,” he whispers.

“Merlin and I can’t do it alone.” The words seem to pain Roxy, but she powers through them anyways. “We don’t know who else might have betrayed. We need you, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy clutches his head in his hands. He’s slowly going insane, his thoughts unraveling in a long spool of irrationality. His heart beats _bang, bang, bang,_ a gunshot ripping through him over and over to keep him alive. The mark on his wrist simmers, a low burn that won’t let him forget what he has lost. “I can’t,” he says again, or at least he thinks he does. Eggsy is somewhere under the blazing Kentucky sun with his blood seeping into the dirt around him. Eggsy is dying, and no one will ever even know.

There are hands on him suddenly, surrounding him, grounding him.

Eggsy cracks one eye open to find Roxy pressed around him once more, his head cushioned on her chest. 

“I’m sorry, Eggsy, I truly am, but I need you to stay with me,” she says. “We have to stop him, we have to stop Valentine. Harry’s death doesn’t mean anything if don’t.”

She’s wrong. She’s wrong, Harry’s death means _everything_.

Eggsy peels himself away from her. He stares at her, blinks dully, and nods. “Alright. I’ll help you.” Because yes, she’s wrong, but she’s also right. Harry gave his life to stop Valentine; Eggsy will give what he has left.

Roxy helps him stand, walks with him to the plane. She doesn’t let go even once they’re seated and in the air, on the way to Valentine’s bunker. 

Merlin gets Roxy caught up on what she’d missed of Valentine’s plans. The chips, the signal, the uncontrollable rage, all of it.

Roxy’s grip on Eggsy’s hand tightens when Merlin tells her he’ll be sending her to the edge of the atmosphere.

“I’ll go,” Eggsy says. “Send me instead of her.”

Merlin grimaces. “I’m afraid we’d have a hard time passing Miss Morton off as Chester King,” he says, and his voice is not without sympathy.

Eggsy’s shoulders stiffen. “I’m supposed to be Arthur?” he asks through gritted teeth. At Merlin’s nod, he shakes his head violently. “No. No. He sent Harry out to that church knowing what was waitin’ for him. I ain’t gonna even pretend to be that wanker.”

Merlin scrubs a hand over his face. “Unless you can stay back here and man the terminals, I need you to do this for me, Eggsy. We have one chance to stop Valentine, do you understand me? One chance.”

Out of habit, Eggsy runs his thumb over his wrist. If Harry were here, if his father were here, they wouldn’t let anything stop them from saving the world. “Then we’d better be damn sure we get this right.” 

-

Things work beautifully until Charlie fucking Hesketh worms his way out of the woodwork. Eggsy doesn’t even see him coming; the first sign of his existence is the edge of a blade pressed into Eggsy’s throat. Eggsy is put on display for Valentine and the rest of the posh wankers he’s gathered around him. He sees sickening recognition in their faces and can take a pretty good guess at what they’re whispering to each other.

‘Isn’t that the kid who…’ 

Eggsy doesn’t wait around to see what Valentine thinks of him. He turns his ring into a lightning rod and sticks it right into Charlie’s temple. Punches him in the face, too, for good measure.

Then he’s weaving back through the corridors with Merlin’s voice urgent in his ear until Eggsy makes it back safely to the plane. He collapses into his seat, panting. The one bright spray of blood in his memory has been overshadowed. Violence now is white suits painted crimson, blood and bone disappearing into grenade-summoned flame.

Yet it does not stop even there. Valentine’s grabbed another satellite. His hand can’t be allowed to touch that sensor.

They’re ready for him this time. 

Eggsy wedges himself in a doorway that affords only minimal cover, the tramping feet of death marching ever closer. “Tell me mum and Daisy I love them,” he begs Roxy. There should be a third name on that list. In a few seconds, Eggsy might get to tell Harry himself.

But genius sparks at the strangest of times. “Merlin,” he says, feeling again that strange detachment from reality. “Remember those implants you said were useless to us?”

The implants, as it turns out, are not so useless to them. They might not stop Valentine, but they clear Eggsy’s path back to the bunker’s heart. 

Eggsy’s strength, already flagging, is tested further by Gazelle. He walks away from the encounter alive; the same cannot be said for his tie.

There is no sense of satisfaction when Eggsy javelins Valentine through the heart, only an all-encompassing relief. It’s over. It’s done.

He, Merlin, and Roxy return to the world to find it a little worse for wear, but alive. More victory than failure, but not a flawless one.

Eggsy feels like he could sleep for a month. The pain in his wrist doesn’t allow him to. Every time he looks at it, he expects the outline to have vanished completely, but it stays stubbornly imprinted. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. Perhaps Marks can never truly fade.

When even Merlin starts to comment on how ragged Eggsy looks, he begs to be allowed to go to Kentucky. 

“I have to see him,” Eggsy pleads. “One last time.” 

Merlin protests. _It won’t help. His body won’t be there. There is nothing for you in Kentucky._ But eventually he relents.

Eggsy spends the entire flight staring blankly out the window. There is nothing for him in Kentucky. He goes anyway.

Eggsy rents a car and speeds through the empty streets of the small Kentucky town, grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He half-hopes he’ll crash. But he arrives at South Glade Mission Church in one piece. 

The empty parking lot stares back at him. Eggsy rests his head on the steering wheel, takes big, gulping breaths until he feels like he isn’t going to be sick. Minute upon minute ticks by, and still he doesn’t move. Eventually, however, he manages to pry his fingers off the black leather, lift his head, and get out of the car. 

There’s nothing, just as he knew there would be. There’s no Harry. There’s no body. There isn’t even a bloodstain.

When Eggsy gets back into the car, his glasses are beeping. He almost ignores them. He can’t take another mission, not right now. He just can’t. Sighing, he shoves the glasses on his face anyways and taps the side.

“Merlin, what-”

“He’s there. In a hospital twelve miles south of your location.”

And Eggsy can’t fucking breathe. 

-

“Lester Cartman.” The name tumbles off Eggsy’s tongue like it’s eager to be out in the world doing something. Lester Cartman. A codename that pinged Merlin’s sensors mere hours ago when it was entered into the hospital’s database. Lester Cartman. Harry Hart.

Eggsy barely dares to believe it. The outline of a heart lies on his wrist and the universe doesn’t make mistakes and Eggsy is looking at Harry in a hospital bed. 

He’s thrown back months, to the first time he’d gone to medical and spotted Harry lying exactly like this. This time, though, he knows what that pull is. Knows why he feels drawn to his bedside. Knows why his heart beats faster as he wraps one hand around the metal bars of the bed and reaches out with the other.

Eggsy stops just short of touching Harry. His fingertips hover over the other man’s limp hand, nervous, uncertain. He’s a bit new to this, discovering himself. He’d thought he found everything there was. But the Marks on his wrist are just that: Marks. They aren’t living, breathing flesh. They aren’t soaring from rooftop to rooftop. They aren’t the heart beating beneath his chest.

They aren’t a man lying in a hospital bed.

Eggsy covers Harry’s hand with his own. Something close to electricity shoots through him, his wrist throbbing in sync with his pulse. It flutters momentarily, weak, growing stronger. And just as it beats with a strong, steady rhythm, Harry opens his eyes.

-

They spend hours talking. Harry’s missed a lot since Valentine had shot him, and Eggsy is eager to know how on earth Harry had survived. Kingsman glasses, it turned out, were as bulletproof as the suits. The bullet had struck the frame and glanced off, carving a deep furrow in the side of Harry’s head and destroying his eye in the process. 

But Eggsy couldn’t care less. Harry was alive, and the knowledge set his soul on fire. The pride that gleamed in Harry’s remaining eye when he told him how he’d defeated Valentine was enough to warm Eggsy to his very bones.

Eggsy now finds it passing strange that he hadn’t realized what Harry was to him the second he’d laid eyes on him. It seems as much as a fact as the sky being blue or the earth being round. Harry is his soulmate.

Each touch is accompanied by a jolt of electricity that soothes as well as excites. It’s an intoxicating contradiction, and Eggsy is loathe to let go of Harry’s hand, even for the nurses who check in on him periodically. Harry looks at him with such fondness that it takes his breath away.

“The thing I don’t get is,” Eggsy says, when they’ve exhausted the events of the past 48 hours, “I still ain’t got my purpose. It must’ve showed up the same day as you, but…” He trails off in an uncertain shrug.

“Am I not a good enough purpose for you?” Harry teases.

Eggsy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Shove off, mate, I know it ain’t you. You can be my soulmate or you can be my purpose, but you’ve gotta pick one.”

Harry hums, runs his thumb over Eggsy’s knuckles. After a moment, he says quietly, “I suspect I know what it is.” 

“Yeah?” Eggsy asks.

Harry runs a finger along Eggsy’s neck until he reaches the chain. He follows its path until the medal is cradled in the palm of his hand. “Your first connection to Kingsman,” he says, tilting it this way and that. 

Eggsy stares down at it before letting out a deep sigh. “Had it round my neck this whole bloody time, and I couldn’t figure it out, then  _ you _ come along…”    


“Well,” Harry says dryly, “it seems you don’t have much of a purpose after all. You were only meant to save the world.”

Eggsy grins and leans forward to press a cautious kiss to Harry’s lips. He very much looks forward to the day when Harry is healed enough to get out of that hospital bed and back home to London. “Harry Hart, you are a very lucky man,” he says, drawing back.

Harry raises one eyebrow. “And why might that be?”

One corner of Eggsy’s mouth tugs up in a smirk. “You have one hell of a boyfriend.”


End file.
